


Lost Tempo

by Delcat



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game), Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Genre: Begging, Blow Jobs, Bondage and Discipline, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Dark Magic, Dominance, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mechanics, Mechaphilia, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Medical Torture, Mild Blood, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Speculums, Submission, Threesome - M/M/M, scalpels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 05:38:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5773426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delcat/pseuds/Delcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ples meets a stranger at the bar who knows a little more than he should about fragmentation, and is willing to take him up on his offer to fix his problem for good, whatever the price.  Ples, it would appear, is not a stickler for reading fine print.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Tempo

He didn't want magic involved.

It wasn't that Ples hadn't appreciated Hanna's help in the past, such as it was.  And it wasn't that he doubted his abilities, or wasn't grateful for the closure he had been able to bring to Veser.  It wasn't even the feeling, perhaps fact, that he owed the young man enough already.  It was just that magic was...imprecise.  Hanna was the sledgehammer versus scalpel argument in literal form, and it was enough to give a man nightmares about crushed gears.

So when the scalpel side had presented itself in the form of a stranger at the bar whose idle chatter was just a little too direct to be coincidence, he had turned the chatter less idle before he had the time to stop himself, in any sense of the phrase.

Standing in a thoroughly makeshift hospital room of what he could only pray was a private practice and with midnight fast approaching, the ticking of his thoroughly makeshift inner workings embarrassingly loud in the stark white space, Ples was wondering whether to bother with regret or simply move forward into grim resignation.

"Calm down, pal." There was a quiet exhalation as the doors closed, and smoke briefly overtook the overbearing antiseptic scent. "I don't bite."

_ "Say pal.  You don't look so good." _

It had been an innocent enough opening to the conversation, considering Ples didn't.  It had been a long time since he had.  He hadn't questioned it at the time, the same as he hadn't questioned the split second where the stranger had reached to give him a business card, paused and written down an address instead.  He had been too relieved that he hadn't so much as batted an eyelid at Ples' request of such an odd time of night for an appointment.

Perhaps that was worth remembering.  This wasn't an ordinary situation, he shouldn't expect an ordinary man to deal with it.

Ples tried to smile. "Please excuse my nerves, Dr. Ca--"

"Maxwell." It was affable, neither sharp nor blunt, but his teeth gritted slightly against his cigar, and Ples' smile froze solid as he wondered if biting was really off the table. "Just Maxwell.  'Carter' hasn't been around for a long time." He relaxed, glancing back at him as he shrugged off his coat. "That's why we're here, isn't it?"

Yes, grim resignation definitely sounded good about now.  Ples tried to rally, but there was a hint of a sigh in his voice. "As forward as that, then."

"I'm a busy man, pal." Maxwell reached into a cabinet, easy cadence not breaking as he rummaged around. "And unless I'm terribly mistaken, you're on a tighter schedule than I am.  Isn't that right?" He grinned as Ples shifted uncomfortably behind him. "Heh.  Right.  So let's lay down some ground rules."

"Rules?"

"Terms of the deal." He inspected a bottle briefly, put it back. "You wanted discretion, so this is just a friendly deal between two gentlemen.  I keep what happens here secret, you do the same."

"That's...fair, of course."

"That's basic courtesy, not terms." He paused, reading a label on a second bottle, nodded to himself, opened another cabinet. "Terms are this." He retrieved a glass, and Ples fixed his gaze on the liquid being poured into it. "You do whatever I say, without question, and I do mean  _ whatever _ I say.  You follow any orders I give you to the letter."

Ples was silent.  There had been...certain overtones to their discussion that made this unsurprising, but he hadn't quite admitted to himself what he was ready to agree to to get rid of his worse half.  Not least because of exactly how amused his worse half would be by that.

"Oh, and you'll be referring to me as 'sir' for the night." Maxwell turned, glass in hand. "Do we have an understanding?"

"I believe we understand each other perfectly."

"Do we have an agreement?"

The glass glittered in the curiously low light of the exam room, and Ples eyed it warily.  He was being given a fair choice, and that was more than what life usually offered him.  He could turn the offer down, apologize for wasting the good doctor's time, and be home in time to lock himself in and watch the night play out.  He could walk away.

"I can promise you it's for your own good, Mr. Tibenoch."

Revulsion coiled inside of him, and he met Maxwell's eye, his own teeth gritted now. "Ples." He didn't look down as he took the glass. "Just Ples."

"Heh." Maxwell grinned. "We  _ do _ have an understanding."

He turned back to the cabinets with a sweeping gesture--possibly unconscious, the man just seemed to  _ sweep _ , it was hard not to notice--and Ples pinched the bridge of his nose as he inspected the drink he'd been given.  It definitely wasn't his usual fare.  He wasn't sure it was anyone's usual fare.  It was grey-purple and was somehow managing to slosh against the sides of the glass in a sinister manner.

"What is this?" He turned his head and colored slightly as Maxwell inclined his head expectantly. "...sir?"

"Said not to ask questions."

"You said not to question instructions, sir, there's a difference."

Maxwell stared up at the ceiling, a small leather case in hand. "Loopholes.  God, I knew it wasn't just the vest.  Do they manufacture you bastards somewhere?"

The ticking grew briefly louder at the word 'manufacture'. "What?  ...sir?"

"Nothing, you just...remind me of someone." He set down the case on a tray by the exam table. "Same fashion sense, same raccoon eyes, same ridiculous hair..."

And one gloved hand was suddenly  _ in _ his hair, yanking him sharply upward so they were eye to eye, and Ples bit back a cry, eyes watering at the pain.

"Same  _ goddamned irritating tendency to stick his nose where it doesn't belong _ ."

"-- _ yes _ , sir, all  _ right _ \--"

Maxwell let go of him, and Ples rocked back, one hand tight on the glass to keep it from spilling, other hand at his stomach, an instinctive, useless gesture to keep clanking metal still.  His grip tightened as Maxwell took hold of his hair again, lightly this time, pulling his head up just enough to murmur into his ear.

"This is how it's gonna be.  Figure you know that, but I like my contracts clean.  Last chance to wal--"

The look on Maxwell's face as Ples slowly and deliberately drained the glass wasn't quite surprise, but the single quirked eyebrow betrayed...something.  He was pleased, maybe impressed, maybe both.  Ples offered a thin smile in return.

"You don't have to play gently with me, sir." The smile cracked into a grin. "I can assure you I am extremely durable."

It was his fragmentation coming though and he knew it, but he didn't care.  Ples' penchant for rough treatment was his own, but it took the night coming on to make him careless enough to let those tendencies get away from his cautious grip on them.  He had considered making midnight appointments before, of a different nature--of what he had  _ thought _ would be a different nature, but...

He sighed as reality filtered back in through the unexpected rush.  The dark, floral tincture had been briefly refreshing--had that been the point?--but weariness was seeping into his bones again. "It's getting late.  We discussed...protective measures.  Sir."

"Relax, sweetheart." Maxwell gestured to the table, either not noticing or choosing to ignore Ples muttering 'sweetheart' back to himself in a disbelieving tone. "Get undressed, get comfortable, and we'll make sure you're wrapped up nice and tight before you start trying to misbehave again."

"Ah.  Er.  Yes." How could  _ this _ part have slipped his mind? "Is it...is that entirely necessary?"

A single eyebrow quirked again. "Entirely."

"...sir." Ples pinched the bridge of his nose again, although this time it was simply to focus.  His headache was rapidly disappearing.  If anything, he felt better than when he had come in, the world softer and more mellow than usual. "If I may ask...ask a moment's privacy between...gentlemen."

"Oh no, pet." Maxwell  _ tsk _ ed softly as Ples put one hand on the table to steady himself, then the other. "You gave up 'gentleman', remember?  What you are now is a precious little fucktoy, and you should be grateful that I'm giving you the opportunity to undress on your own.  Better hurry up if you want to take it."

Hurry?  Why?  It wasn't like Ples didn't know the time, he knew it innately, knew it more reliably than the world, which was currently cheating physics by slipping sideways and up and away from him and  _ oh goddammit how had he not seen this coming _ .

"Warned you." Maxwell chuckled as he knelt by him--Ples was a tall man, and hadn't fallen so much as folded like a house of cards, slumped awkwardly on the floor, and through his irritation he could only feel acute gratitude toward some deity or another that he hadn't landed on anything that could be dented and somehow belated surprise that Maxwell was somehow taller.  Perhaps it was the way the drugs were sending his mind reeling, but he could have sworn the doctor hadn't loomed over him the way he seemed to now as he was casually lifted, set down again with an equally surprising amount of care.

"There we go," Maxwell's voice was soothing as he gently stretched out Ples' long limbs on the cold metal table and snapped on a surgical light, but the kind of soothing you directed at an animal that had a bright future as a small fraction of a fur coat.  As he drew an old-fashioned straight razor from his equipment case, it lost even that, becoming dispassionate, self-directed. "Now let's see what we've got here."

The razor cruelly dismembered Ples' vest, sending the buttons pinging softly into the far corners of the room, and he considered raising token protest, discarded it.  Tibenoch had forced him to ruin enough outfits already, one way or another, and as the tip caught at his collar and began to cut down through his shirt, he allowed himself the bitter thrill of having hands other than his own ripping his clothes open, being exposed to something other than the mirror, even if the humiliation was that much greater,  _ because _ the humiliation was that much greater, the world was soft and he was half-hard and he didn't know that he could blame both on the drugs and good God what was he thinking, this was about to end and end badly--

Ples closed his eyes as Maxwell ripped open his shirt, the room suddenly still and silent except for the abrupt amplification in echoing clockwork and the fast, shallow breathing beneath it.

"You..."

"I tried to warn--"

"...are a work of  _ art _ ..."

Slender, black-gloved hands traced slowly up the crystal plate of Ples' stomach, the shining mechanisms beneath ticking audibly, visibly faster as metal and flesh alike hitched in a ragged gasp, and as they met at the latch just below his ribcage, the good doctor almost  _ purred _ .

"You  _ are _ a plaything, aren't you?  An expensive little piece..." He traced a fingertip over his patient's cock, now fully erect, and a thin whine escaped Ples' lips, the chill air clearing his head enough to attempt panic. "Heh, flesh where it counts, I see."

"Be  _ careful _ \--" Ples jerked as Maxwell cut him off with a sharp rap of his fist on his chassis, eyes watering, trying to pull heavy limbs inward.

"Watch your mouth, I'd hate to have to shut it for you this early in the game." Maxwell splayed one hand over the casing, his other lightly grasping Ples' erection, and grinned at the twitch one elicited in the other. "You can  _ feel _ that, can't you?" He stroked both at the same time, and the sound it earned was as far removed from 'gentleman' as possible. "Let’s see now..."

The room was flickering around the edges, pinning him down, and Ples' movements were leaden as he tried to pull away from Maxwell's hand at his latch. "N-no, please..."

"Oh, don't worry,  _ darling _ , I'll be  _ gentle _ ."

There was a solid  _ click _ as Maxwell detached Ples' casing and cast it almost carelessly aside, letting it clatter on the floor as he drew leather-clad thumbs in soft strokes over his gears, and it was too much to  _ not _ pull sound from him, quiet but urgent, wordless pleading that went unheeded.  There  _ weren't _ words for it, pleasure wasn't right, not because it wasn't, but because it wasn't  _ enough _ , it was the secret shameful thrill he'd had his first time with another man compounded and concentrated, the failure to parse or describe what was happening inside of him beyond  _ God yes _ and despite all else he hadn't fallen that far, not yet,  _ not yet goddammit! _

" _ Heh.  _  You should see the face you're making.  Could you come just from this?  I wonder..." He leaned in to breathe softly over the gears and Ples breathed an agonized moan in response. "This friend of mine...hah, 'friend'.   _ Pet. _  He'd just  _ love _ to get his hands on you.  I know my way around automatons, sweetheart, but he'd open you right up to see what made you tick." He chuckled softly as Ples shuddered. "Lose half your damn' pieces doing it." Maxwell leaned up and in, whispered intently into his ear. "I'm half inclined to let him do it if you keep being so...difficult.  Understood?"

"Under...understood, sir..." It was breathless, almost voiceless, swallowed up in the rolling of his senses, and he barely flinched as Maxwell nipped his ear.

"Good boy.  Rest that pretty little head of yours for a minute." The doctor pulled back, surveying his patient. "I'd planned on having more room..."

"Restraints," Ples murmured, cogs slowing along with his heartbeat. "Sir.  Please, the time..."

"Shhhh...gonna take good care of you, pet."

Ples didn't offer any resistance as Maxwell shed him of the rest of his clothing, letting himself be lifted and turned, shivering once as his back came in contact with the cold metal of the table, again as one deft hand freed his cock from his clothes, passive otherwise.  He relaxed further as padded cuffs locked into place at his wrists and ankles.  There was time to spare, and the worst of it was over.  The anesthetic was sure to fully overtake him soon, and...

Why  _ hadn't _ the anesthetic overtaken him?

For that matter, why hadn't  _ Maxwell _ overtaken him?

Terrible little things started surfacing from where he had thoughtlessly tamped them down.  A cigar that was there one moment and gone the next.  The business card he had almost been handed.  Half of an understanding.   _ Automatons. _

Ples opened his eyes, tried to focus through flickering shadows.  Maxwell's back was turned to him, busy with his instruments. "Maxwell...sir."

"Mm?"

"Your...payment.  Do you intend to, ah, collect before or after the surgery?"

" _ Heh. _ "

Shadows flickered, entirely too many shadows, and furious heartbeat-breath-ticking-tocking shook his frame as Maxwell turned back to him, a ball of ethereal black fire balanced in one hand, fire he was using to casually heat a scalpel white-hot.

"Who the hell told you I was a doctor?"

_ He hadn't wanted magic involved. _

"Shh shh shh, you were being so  _ good _ before." Maxwell waved the shadow flame away and took Ples' face in one hand, turning his head to look at him as he struggled. "I'd hate to have to punish you now."

Maybe it was the drugs.  Maybe it was the fact that he wasn't shocked, not really.  Maybe it was the sweeping clock hands, the relentless march past midnight, the fragmenting surfacing even beneath the so-called anesthetic.  Maybe he simply felt he had earned it.

Ples bit him.

Maxwell  _ grinned. _

"Called my bluff, pal." He laid the scalpel aside, licking the mark on his glove. "I'd be frankly  _ wounded _ if I didn't have the chance to play a game or two before the night was out."

The vertigo was bad, and only got worse when Maxwell kicked a lever at the base of the table, tilting him back, but Ples wasn't far gone enough that he couldn't count.  The hands at his ankles, pulling his legs up and out, were accounted for, most definitely human, but that left one hand of unknown origin playing over his cock, another tightening at his throat, at least two sliding slippery-soft-slither over his chest and dear God maybe he couldn't count, he was being teased and caressed and scratched and bitten by endless black shadows, buried in a thick hot fog, and when a leather glove cut through that cloud to grab his chin the loss of it  _ screamed _ like ice squeezed in a bare palm.

"Pay  _ attention _ , Mister Tibenoch." He tilted Ples' head up, grip strong enough to bruise, and the pain cut the fugue.  He tried to object to 'Tibenoch', couldn't form the words, realized he was panting, that he  _ had _ been saying things, nothing he could remember, everything he could imagine.  Maxwell turned his head to one side to whisper sweetly into his ear.

"Don't bullshit me on this, sweetheart.  I know you're no lightweight.  Addict of a different kind, sure..." One shadow tugged at the head of his cock, and Ples almost  _ wept _ , and Maxwell chuckled, a burst of warm air over his neck. "...but I didn't dope you that bad." He drew his tongue slowly along his neck, heat and chill in turn.  "You want to think that?  Blame that pitiful begging on the fuel?  Suits me."

Tongue touch again, heat-chill- _ bite _ and Ples wasn't able to draw in enough air to moan.

"You're not gonna stop anytime soon."

A glint of light caught Ples' eye as Maxwell turned his head back, and the sight was sobering in more than one sense of the word.  He wasn't entirely sure what vicious little medical implement Maxwell had in hand, but he was sure it was coated in a thick layer of lubrication, which was profoundly worrying.

**shouldn't it be reassuring?  better than not**

_ That _ was sobering.  Ples snapped his head up as much as he could, forgetting maddening silk touches for a moment, errant tongue attending again. "--he's waking up--"

"Is he, now?" Maxwell drew a fingertip casually down Ples' body, throat to chest to stuttering gears, dispelling shadows in its wake, not going quite low enough to free him from the hand at what remained of his now-flagging erection. "Let's hope you're convincing, then."

"Convinci--"

Ples hissed sharply as Maxwell slid cold, slick steel into him, a single motion that seemed agonizingly long nonetheless--long but not thick, settling deep inside of him but barely parting flesh.  It was almost...

**disappointing our playtime is** **_so_ ** **much better don't you think**

The echo was alarming.  The sudden pressure as Maxwell grinned and thumbed something on the device and it spread inside him, more so.

"Here's the deal, pet.  You got yourself into this with that filthy mouth of yours, you get to get yourself out of it with it.  Beg.  And when--only when--I am completely,  _ thoroughly _ convinced you've learned your lesson, I'll stop and we can get back to business.  I'm in no hurry, though.  Kinda curious to see how far this thing can go." Maxwell opened the speculum another notch, grinned at the hitch in Ples' breath and the renewed stiffening of his cock. "Guess I'm not the only one, huh pal?"

Ples was reeling, barely able to breathe, much less speak, still half-drunk from whatever he had taken, painfully aroused, terrified of the movements at the back of his skull, yet somehow, the underlying thought of  _ Hanna still would have managed to make this more complicated _ was the most worrying thing on his mind.

"I'm waiting, pet." He leaned in, and for a fleeting moment Ples thought he was going to take him into his mouth, a gasp escaping from his lips as Maxwell kissed one of his gears instead. "You're gonna give me a show either way.  Might as well make it a good performance."

"I--" Ples swallowed thickly, aware of how loud his voice felt even over the heavy, fast sound of his clockwork, and his cheeks colored as Maxwell leaned back, a leather-clad hand playing over the inside of his thigh. "--I apologize  _ profusely _ , sir, for--for losing my temper--"

"Oh, no, pet." The speculum spread wider, and he heard the  _ click _ this time,  _ felt _ it, a quick little snap inside of him that was far too fleeting. "Losing your temper is something  _ I _ would do.  _ You _ acted out like an ill-trained dog." The shadow hand palmed lazily over his length, and Ples shuddered. "What are you, Ples?"

He licked dry lips. "A...dog."

Another  _ click _ , and  _ yes _ it was sweet for that moment again, then gone, too quickly back to pressure that wouldn't resolve, that he refused to rock down into. "Say it nicely, now."

"--I'm a dog, sir, an ill-trained dog--"

"Better." The shadow stroked again, and Ples realized he was  _ being _ trained, the cycle all too familiar. "Keep going."

"--an ill-mannered dog th-that--would, ah...could only beg for your forgiveness for my transgression, sir--"

This time the  _ click-snap _ fell in harmony with the stroke, and it was suddenly not wouldn't but  _ couldn't _ pulse his hips down to match it, and Maxwell grinned wider at the attempt, ran his thumb so damnably close to the underside of Ples' cock. "I don't hear begging, dog."

"Please," It was a placeholder, breathless, gasping.  He had felt exposed before, his faceplate cast aside, but he had had no idea.  Maxwell was forcing him open, stripping the chassis away from mind, then metal, now flesh, there wouldn't be anything  _ left _ of him--

**_poor_ ** **Ples, you fucking hypocrite, act like you haven't taken it deeper and harder**

_ Click-snap. _ "Louder."

His fists were white-knuckled, his teeth gritted, heart beating so fast it hurt. "Please--"

**like you don't want that** **_right now_ ** **give in let** **_me_ ** **make you beg you're so** **_good_ ** **at begging**

" _ Tibenoch please-- _ "

Ples bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, but the words were out, and when he dared look down, Maxwell's grin had disappeared, been replaced by something...appraising.

"I see how it is."

Maxwell straightened up, stretched almost lazily, and Ples panted helplessly, dizzy again, the world rocking back and forth so that he barely noticed when the table was tipped back up, the speculum still locked in place, the shadow blessedly-- _ damnably _ \--at ease.  He didn't flinch as Maxwell gripped his hair and turned his head gently back and forth, sizing him up.

"Tell me, sweetheart, how does he usually take you?"

Was there any sense in avoiding it at this point? "...against a mirror, sir.  From...from behind."

"Hm." Ples had expected ridicule, but the almost detached interest expressed in place of it was somehow much worse. "Well.  We'll call that good enough."

There wasn't enough time to appreciate the relief before Maxwell picked up the discarded scalpel.

"Back to business."

**oh Ples, and you pretend you don't** **_like_ ** **it when I cut you, I'm hurt**

Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it.  He'd done it long enough, this personal  _ hell _ was almost over, and that was worth it, it was worth anything.

Still, Ples amended quickly as Maxwell started heating the scalpel again, 'anything' was a broad term.  He gathered as much of his composure as he could before speaking, but his voice still wavered.

"Maxwell, sir.  May I ask what you're...planning to do?"

"You know if someone tells you something's gonna hurt before they do it, it actually hurts more?"

"I...was not aware, sir."

"Well." Maxwell turned the scalpel appraisingly, watching it cool. "This is gonna hurt like hell, sweetheart."

"Wait--"

To his surprise, Maxwell did, inclining his head very slightly, and he sighed shakily.

"...something to bite would be appreciated, sir." Ples couldn't quite ferret the pang of sardonicism out of his voice as he went on. "If you believe I've been  _ good _ enough, sir."

"Heh.  I don't know, I like your lips painted up nice and red like this..." Maxwell wiped blood from Ples' lower lip with his thumb, and Ples' face colored.

**oh this one has the nicest ideas doesn't he**

"Please, sir." Ples swallowed. "The time."

"Fine, fine, if it'll shut you up."

Maxwell removed one glove, and Ples took vague notice of what looked like an old burn scar across the inside of his wrist before opening his mouth to accept the gag.

"Good boy.  Nice and compliant.  Much better." Maxwell tilted his head, considering Ples' bare chest. "Now hold still.  You don't want these getting out of order, pal, trust me."

Ples nodded grimly and braced himself, fingernails digging into his palms, biting hard into the glove.

The blade was still warm as it bit into Ples' skin, but not hot enough to burn--he wasn't sure if it had been for sanitization or purification or just straight scare tactics, but it was a small blessing, far too small to take away from the fact that yes, it hurt like  _ hell _ .  The cuts were fine and shallow, but they were slow, meticulous, curving in long lines of unbroken, pent-up pain until he felt he couldn't stand it any longer before jagging one way or the other in bright flares of agony.  Ples' eyes watered, the taste of nicotine strong in his mouth as he bit down for dear life, and Maxwell was  _ comforting him damn his eyes _ , his free hand stroking his side, lips brushing his neck whenever he grew too tense, forcing tension on him he'd rather not have, making him aware of his exposure all over again, mind metal  _ flesh _ \--

"Easy, pet," Maxwell said softly, the whisper of an artisan focused on his craft, and he put the scalpel down, lifted a clean towel from a basin of water long gone cold. "That's it.  You're doing so well, don’t you dare stop now." Ples inhaled shakily as he cleared the blood away from the runes, inspecting his work. "Perfect.  Goddamn' beautiful."

**_Such_ ** **a good boy, aren't you Ples?  So** **_compliant_ ** **.**

Well.  It had taken him longer than usual to wake up fully, that was something.  Ples was aware that he was almost entirely clearheaded now, wondered if the drugs had kept him off, wondered if it was worth the humiliation of asking for a second dose.

**Ples, Ples, Ples, what** **_do_ ** **we have here?**  The chuckle was unkinder than Maxwell's.  **You cheating bastard.**

Don't let on, don't let him know, let him think whatever he wanted as long as it wasn't the truth, just a little bit longer...

**Or are you selling us now?  Oh, Ples...**

Ples had lifted his head to watch Maxwell work in grim fascination, and it was yanked back against the solid metal of the table suddenly,  _ hard _ .

**Don't you know that when I call you a whore, I mean you're my** **_personal_ ** **...**

_ Don't-- _

Tibenoch jerked his head up and then down again, this time hard enough to make stars explode behind his eyes, and the glove dropped from his mouth as he cried out in pain.

**_...property?_ **

Maxwell looked up at him and sighed, aggravated. "Really am sorry about this, pal.  Expected more canvas."

"S-sorry for wha--"

The scalpel bit into one thigh and Ples drew blood fresh from his lip, his fingernails digging into his palms, and as Maxwell sliced fast, shallow lines almost carelessly into him, the agony was briefly, blissfully enormous enough to make everything else disappear, the world swallowed up in the roar of radio static in his ears.

**I do hope you aren't misbehaving, Ples.**

**We both know what happens when you misbehave.**

"Breathe, goddammit!"

Ples hadn't realized he hadn't been, and as he sucked in air the black tendrils at the edges of his vision disappeared, but the reflection of a dark figure remained in his glasses.  He tried dully to shake them off, was shaking, had been shaking badly, he was being held still by the throat and for a panicked moment he wasn't sure by whom, and then Maxwell closed his lips over his and as Ples gasped he inhaled smoke, dark thick floral smoke, and he started coughing--

\--and the smoke had a  _ shape _ , touched the outlines of a human figure as it drifted, and that outline filled in, faded in, became flesh.

Flesh and  _ metal. _

Not once in their splintered existence had Ples known Tibenoch to be at a loss for words, but as his fragment stood over him, staring down at him, then at his own hands, he was completely, entirely silent.

And then, very slowly, in a way that made mind and metal and flesh go cold and numb, he  _ grinned _ .

"From behind, you said, pet?" Maxwell's voice was silk and sugar as he unfastened Ples' bonds, ignoring the terrified increase in pace of his ticking. "Against a mirror, you said, my loyal dog?"

Maxwell kicked the lever again, throwing Ples to the floor, and the man  _ growled _ .

"Such a lovely idea."

"Please," he said, not sure what he was asking for at this point, hazy and overstimulated and aching.

"I'll be accepting that payment now, pet." He slid one immaculately polished shoe under Ples' chest and goaded him onto his hands and knees. "Don't you dare, Tibenoch."  

Tibenoch stopped with one hand on Ples' hip and glared, starting to protest, then stopped as Maxwell jerked his head to one side. "You're the mirror."

The slow grin returned to his face, and he squeezed Ples' hip hard enough to bruise before switching places with Maxwell, laughing at the whimper it drew out of him. "Excellent taste, Ples.  _ Excellent _ taste."

"Relax, sweetheart.  Make it easier on yourself.  And don't get  _ ungrateful _ , now.  Even took the time to get you nice and open for me."

It was Ples' turn to try to protest and be silenced, this time by the speculum being pulled out of him in one fluid motion, sparking heat up through him at the same time that he felt the loss acutely, bitterly, and then too soon the tip of Maxwell's cock pushing into him and dear God the man was  _ enormous _ , he was suddenly grateful for the degradation, how could he be  _ grateful _ for this, but he didn't care anymore, he had been bruised and bled and he was ready for his punishment to be complete, was  _ desperate _ for it, but when he tried to arch his hips a solid slap across his thighs nearly knocked him back to the floor.

"Get to work, dog.  Earn it."

Tibenoch yanked him up by the hair and used his other hand to part Ples' lips. "You heard him, my  _ dear  _ Ples.  Make it good,  _ won't  _ you?"

He almost responded 'yes, sir', realized he didn't know which one he would be responding to, gave up and took Tibenoch into his mouth, sucking fervently.

"Isn't that the goddamned prettiest sight." Maxwell stroked along Ples' back with both hands and sighed as he rested them on his hips. "Keep it up, and I might even let you come when we're done." He quirked an eyebrow at Tibenoch. "Barring any objections."

"You were gracious enough to let me out of his damned head." Tibenoch hummed tunelessly as he pushed Ples further down on his length, smiling wickedly as he squirmed. "It'd be impolite not to share the fucking  _ ridiculous _ sounds he makes when you force him over."

" _ Heh _ .  Figured I'd like you.  Don't like to brag, but I'm an excellent judge of character." Maxwell conjured a cigar, took a long drag off of it, and exhaled. "Well, then."

The thrust was sudden, complete, careless, and Ples hadn't thought he could be stretched further but he was, Maxwell's size overwhelming as he buried himself inside of him, and he choked on the burst of heat and pleasure, choked  _ again _ as the motion made Tibenoch moan and yank his head down, sliding his cock into the back of his throat.

"Has he had it both ways before?" Maxwell might as well be asking the time of day, tapping hot ash onto the small of Ples' back, only a small twitch inside of Ples betraying his enjoyment of the way it made him flinch.

"Equivalent, but-- _ haah _ \--" Ples raised a hand to Tibenoch's side to steady himself, taking him deeper without instruction this time, starting to lose himself in taste and pain and heat, and Tibenoch shivered indulgently in response. "--mm, good, you  _ can _ be taught--sorry, I was saying, is there really equivalent to this?"

No.  No, there wasn't, this was no mirror, and the rough counter-pace the two men were setting against him was beyond anything Tibenoch could have managed with toys and torment, was beyond his grasp.  He felt drugged again, overloaded and overheated and aching, the casual inquiry  _ could you come just from this _ replaying over and over again in his skull and he thought the answer was yes, that if Maxwell deigned to touch any part of him he would come and never stop coming, lose himself for good and so  _ be _ it, he could die for this.

Tibenoch laughed, and it was so much  _ louder _ outside his head. "There.  Do you hear that?  I told you."

Of course, the 'sounds', the low, needy moans that he couldn't hold back once the pleading for Tibenoch to stop turned to pleading for him to keep going, to please  _ God _ don't leave him like this, to please  _ God _ grant him release, and he was frantic suddenly, afraid to keep going, unable to stop, and he made a desperate noise deep in his throat that made Maxwell hiss softly and jerk his hips.

"I've heard ridiculous, pal, this...this I like." He tapped off the ash on the back of his neck this time, spilling down his back, and Ples repeated the sound, more intently. "It's so  _ sincere _ ."

"Try living with it," Tibenoch growled, pulling Ples' hair sharply and smirking when his eyes watered.

"I just might." He sighed smoke as Ples shuddered fitfully. "Think he's earned his keep?"

Tibenoch snorted. "Generous, aren't you?"

"Fair.  Always fair." Maxwell pulled Ples flush against his hips and growled, openly delighting in his desperation now. "We made a deal."

"So make one with me."

No.

"Give him a little incentive, and he's all yours."

_ Goddammit, no, why did he always do this-- _

Tibenoch grinned down at him. "He's just  _ dying _ for cock, isn't he?  Take it out, let him  _ really _ earn it.  You'll  _ love _ the results, trust me."

Ples didn't respond, kept pulsing his hips, kept sucking, resisted the urge to bite down on his better half as 'incentive' to shut the  _ fuck _ up, and relaxed when Maxwell squeezed his hips and lean in to whisper in his ear.

"Bet you're terrible at poker, pal."

And he was pulling out and the deprivation was worse than anything the night had thrown at him, moaning long and low in protest.

" _ Poor _ Ples.  I love it when you look at me like that, you know.  So damn' determined." Tibenoch's voice was almost sing-song, and he stroked his hair mockingly. "And you  _ never _ win."

"Make it quick, both of you." Maxwell leaned back against the table, taking a long drag off his cigar and pumping his cock with one hand. "Don't get me wrong, this is  _ precious _ , but it's been a long night."

"Hear that, Ples?" The hand petting his hair turned to an iron grip and he snapped his hips up. "Be  _ good _ ."

Ples didn't choke this time, moving with the stroke instead, and some weary part of him reveled in the shiver it earned.  If he couldn't win, he could lose gracefully, and Tibenoch  _ knew _ he knew how he liked it.

They could deal all they wanted, he wasn't going to get cut out of the bargain.

"Mm, much better..."

Tibenoch was too rough, always, too fast, always, but Ples let him take control, let him throatfuck him, let him use him--

"Because you're  _ meant _ to be used, aren't you, Ples?"

Ples froze.

"Don't you dare stop.  Not if you want him to fuck you.  And oh, you  _ want _ him to fuck you.  Did you think I wasn't still listening?"

No, no, nono _ no _ , Ples restarted his efforts, redoubled them, just as long as it kept him quiet but he was  _ never quiet _ \--

Tibenoch grinned at Maxwell, disregarding pleading and peace offering both. "He's  _ quite  _ taken with you.  He has been since he set eyes on you.  If you had bent him over the bar then and there, he wouldn't have said a word against it.  He would have looked you in the eye and  _ begged _ you to violate him."

_ No-- _

"You made a poor bargain...Maxwell, is it?  Look at all this  _ trouble _ he put you to.  You could have had what you wanted up front."

Ples' face and shoulders were hot, his fists clenched, and he didn't need to be looking in a mirror, it was the same thing every damned night unless Tibenoch skipped them just to key him up, and there was an echo in the back of his skull as the thrusts grew faster, more erratic.

**_There_ ** **we go.**

Tibenoch didn't shove Ples' head down as he started to come, but tilted it  _ up _ , drinking in the humiliation in his face, and worse, the  _ satisfaction _ , the secret thrill at having lost--

**That face is just for me, Ples.** He shuddered and moaned low, pushing him down as he finished and Ples dutifully swallowed.  **_Just_ ** **for me.**

Maxwell straightened up as Tibenoch pulled away, face impassive. "That the case, pet?"

Ples wiped his mouth, voice hoarse from the rough treatment, not daring to look up. "Yes, sir."

"Well."

He hadn't wanted magic involved, but the split second it took for the shadows to grasp him and pull him up and shove him hard against the table was a split second in which Ples reconsidered his stance, erased it entirely as Maxwell leaned in against him.

"Better make up for lost time."

Maxwell  _ slammed  _ into him, robbed him of breath, the cold metal of table lighting up every nerve in his chest, and when he could manage words they were incoherent, half-sobbed, beyond desperate from the endless edging.

"--please  _ God _ sir  _ harder _ \--"

" _ Heh _ ." He obliged, taking up a brutal pace that only mounted as Ples kept pleading and shuddering, and he worked a hand under him, just barely ghosting over his clockwork. "What's the magic word, pal?"

Ples gripped the edges of the table to keep from forcing himself into Maxwell's hand, shaking hard, barely able to restrain himself with the hard-learned knowledge that pushing it would leave him deprived for good. " _ \--please, sir, let me come--please-- _ "

"Good boy."

And he wrapped one gloved hand around his cock, and he was right, just the touch was enough, the rough-smooth jerking  _ more _ than enough, too much by far, pulling absolutely  _ licentious _ sounds from him as he came, moans and sharp cries and not quite screams, not quite howls,  _ alarming _ sounds, but that was right because it was too much, too much to take and he wanted it all, he wanted more, and as Maxwell came inside of him everything spiked, everything sparked, the world was too bright and then too dark, too dark...

"Easy, pal."

The voice was labored, and only coming through in waves, but Ples nodded vaguely, letting Maxwell support him and lower him to the floor.  He laid there shivering and panting, eyes slitted closed, listening to the conversation but too spent to care.

"Likable results, huh pal."

"Told you."

"Leave him alone, I'm surprised he isn't out already.  Lost a good four wagers against myself on that."

A low chuckle. "Did what I could to toughen the poor dear up."

"Clearly."

There was a pause.

"So what did you do with  _ your _ 'better half'?"

"Doesn't stand saying."

Ples suddenly felt very, very cold.

"Anything  _ fun? _ "

"I told you, doesn't stand saying."

"Funny how easy it is to convince people which side you are, isn't it?"

There was a quiet sigh.

"Pal, you may not believe this, but I've been around a lot longer than you, and white and red..."

Ples didn't have the energy to jump, but jerked faintly as a coat was draped carefully over him.

"...they're just the same damn' pieces."

Very, very slowly, warmed by the thick fur, Ples relaxed.

"You're softer than you look, aren't you?"

"Like I said." There was a pause, the flick of a lighter. "But if you think that doesn't mean I'll be just as hard on any other pretty playthings you bring over to show off, you're dead wrong."

Tibenoch laughed, unkind but familiar.

"What?"

"I do believe I see what he sees in you."

Ples listened as the ticking and tocking slowed, became just as familiar.

Damn him if he wasn't starting to  _ like _ magic.

**Author's Note:**

> First off, thanks to Crow and Raile for providing ever-valuable beta work. You guys are great <3
> 
> There are two people responsible for catapulting me out of casual Don't Starve play and into the fandom abyss. One of them requested I write a fic of any kind as a holiday gift. I told her that I could try, but I didn't have any ideas, and not to get her hopes up. That night, lying in bed, I went "oh that's FILTHY I HAVE to" and work started.
> 
> Anyway, I would be a plain-faced liar if I said Plescest was anything but highly influential in my current work. About time I did it fair justice.
> 
> I took down a laundry list of kinks and dealbreakers from Sinister before starting and continued asking questions throughout the process--you don't want your gift to be an ill-fitting sweater, after all. As such, there are some noticeable differences from my usual self-indulgent fare. For those who like my more extreme work better, please be reassured that there was a voice going "but DANGEROUS SURGERY tho" every five minutes, I just had to keep going "but no tho" and eventually "FINE LATER".
> 
> As an aside, I wrote up to Ples biting Maxwell and lost momentum for a while. It was roughly a week before one of my attempts to spark creativity by re-reading that I realized that in the reveal and acceptance of Ples' hidden clockworks, I had succeeded in writing the most trans-coded scene ever without any intention whatsoever of doing it.
> 
> I am, myself, a trans guy.
> 
> Yeah I dunno either.
> 
> This technically fits into The Skies We're Under, but only in the sense of Woundson having the weirdest/second weirdest/probably fifth weirdest never-MIND-go-find-Maxwell-and-get-ready-to-bargain dream ever. This is partially because he deserves a break, and partially because the idea of being responsible for ANOTHER Maxwell makes me hyperventilate.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed this little departure, it was a lot of fun!
> 
> "Say Del, how much do you wish you hadn't already used up 'Clock Move' as a title?"
> 
> quiet weeping


End file.
